My Candyman
by Luciferian Principle
Summary: Wonka offers Charlie more than just the factory. Chanslash warning. Ongoing.
1. Intro

**M**y **C**andyman

Rating: R  
Author: Lucifer  
Notes: This sort of rewrites the ending of the first book and goes from there. I'm overlooking the second book Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, because well, I've restarted this fic like three times now (since I've finished the first book) and I didn't start the second until after I'd gotten a ways into this. My apologies to anyone who thought it should be mentioned in here.  
Additional Warning: Charlie is still the age he was when he first entered the factory, he's going to be portrayed in sexual situations with Mr. Wonka.

_"Oh my love, I know you are my Candyman. And oh my love, your word is my command." -- Lollipop (Candyman) / Aqua_

**Introduction**

"It is time we left these silly children. I have something very important to talk to you about, Charlie."

Mr. Wonka began to lead Charlie away from his grandfather, gently resting his hand against the middle of Charlie's back to urge him forward. Charlie glanced up at Mr. Wonka, then back at Grandpa Joe, wondering what he was doing. Wonka flashed one of those care-free, white-toothed smiles in Grandpa Joe's direction as he steered Charlie around himself, pausing to face the old man with his shoulders squared forward though in a relaxed, thrown back sort of posture.

"We will only be a moment," he said brightly, "I have a gift of sorts for you and Charlie, and your entire family!" His eyes twinkled with delight and threw his arms out over his head in one wild gesture. It made Charlie happy all over to see a man so pleased with giving out gifts. "But first, of course, I must have Charlie's decision on the matter. Oh and what a surprise this will be!" He began to grow excited and anxious all at once. Mr. Wonka's eyes never stopped glittering jovially as he spoke. For a second, Charlie was so delighted that he could actually imagine they really _were_ glittering, just like magic. But in a blink of an eye the thought was gone.

Grandpa Joe smiled just as wide back at them and told them he'd wait there without a worry. Besides, he wanted to taste the sugar trees, which he had admittedly been eyeing for a good fifteen minutes or so. He couldn't wait to hear the good news, and with a wave he bid them goodbye as Mr. Wonka lead Charlie into the elevator. Wonka pressed a button and Charlie had to jump out of his daze quickly to latch his arms around the chocolatier's waist before he was thrown to the floor again. He felt a little awkward about it, being this close to Mr. Wonka that is. After all, he didn't hug him on a regular basis and had only known him for just a short while…and still referred to him as _Mr_. Wonka, formality and all. But then again, there was nothing else for him to do, so he gave a rather sheepish smile up at the tall man, who smiled back with that twinkle in his eye, as they hurdled through the elevator shaft.

It seemed to take forever to get where they were going, but perhaps this was only due to Charlie's nervousness. Charlie hadn't seen which button Mr. Wonka pushed, and couldn't find one with its little red light lit up to tell him. He thought it was one of the ones on the ceiling, but couldn't quite remember if when they started out Mr. Wonka had raised his hand up there to push a button or simply grasp hold of the rail. He'd have liked to start a conversation (the nervousness was getting to him) but besides the elevator being only a bit too loud for that, he couldn't think of what to say. Of course "Where are we going?" kept popping into his head, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be given an answer until they arrived.

When they finally did stop, at a sudden halt which nearly made Charlie lose his grip, the doors swung open to a rather dimly lit hall. He couldn't tell if they'd gone up or down or east or west, or somewhere in between, but he got the feeling that this place lay just on the edge of the great factory, if only for the time it had taken them to get there. Mr. Wonka's arm came down around him and he lead them into the hall. The man was now humming a sort of whimsical tune which made Charlie feel more at home. It was light and springy, and Charlie swore he had heard it in a movie somewhere but couldn't put his finger on it. He always remembered things from movies; he rarely ever got to see them. He thought he remembered something about a woman in a white dress, a nurse's outfit, and a patch over one eye, walking down a hallway whistling it. (1) Yes, that's the right image. As he was pondering over this however, Mr. Wonka had brought them to the end of the small hallway. It was rather short actually, with only three or four doors in its length, all tall and ornate looking. There was a red one, a deep purple one, a green one…but all were darkly colored. They stopped before the last one and Wonka unwound his arm from the boy's shoulders, though kept his hand resting at his back, as though to prevent Charlie from jumping away from whatever lie beyond this door.

"I've already shown you the heart of the factory, Charlie," Wonka said with the tiniest of smiles, just enough to lighten the boy's anxiety. "Now, let me show you its brain," he continued, opening the door and stepping inside. Charlie followed close at Wonka's side. His eyes widened curiously upon entering the room. It was like…some kind of astronomy tower and old fashioned living room in one. The idea of it reminding him of an astronomy tower was absurd however, as they were still underground and all, unless the elevator had managed to take them upwards without him realizing it. There were maps and globes and spheres and charts scattered all about the place. Giant golden and silver telescopes rested in their own corners of the room as well as computer monitors and other sorts of gadgets that Charlie did not know the name nor use for. The room's walls were made of stone, and it had a tall ceiling with arced stone pillars running up its sides and coming together in a point at the very top. Looking upwards reminded Charlie of being in a cathedral. The ceiling had been painted a deep blue with brilliant sparkling silver speckles in it, matching the night sky. Charlie found that as he moved, the silver speckle stars glittered and faded as new ones alit. It was quite bewitching; almost like the real thing.

"Are we still--" Charlie began.

"Underground?" Wonka interjected, stepping forward and around the boy from where he had been standing behind him, watching as he looked around the room in awe. "Why yes, my dear Charlie, we are still very much underground." He sat down in an old looking plush chair and typed into a keyboard on the desk nearby. The wall above them suddenly lit up in a large image of Wonka's factory, seen from the outside. It was like a giant overhead through Charlie couldn't see a projector. The image moved around the factory, showing it from every angle. Wonka tapped a few more keys and the stone walls all around the room lit with other images of the factory, dousing everything in sight with brilliant colors. Charlie picked out the wild chocolate river, the TV room, the giant gum machine, the chocolate room, and other places he hadn't yet seen. There was an image of a great crystallized mountain of some sort that glittered when the light shown on it, there was a jungle of licorice rope, a room full of rainbow colored candy, hallways, corridors, and paths of every color. The images kept changing as Charlie tried to look at them all at once.

He didn't see Mr. Wonka step from the chair and kneel down in front of him until he began to speak. They were roughly the same height now, with Charlie only a bit taller on his feet.

"So Charlie," he began, "What do you think of my chocolate factory?"

Charlie didn't have to hesitate. "It's the most wonderful place in the world, sir," he replied, beaming at the man before him. Wonka gave a small but earnest smile in return. It looked like the corners of his mouth wanted to rise higher than he was allowing them. Charlie was glad, for this meant he was more pleased than he was letting on.

"What would you think, Charlie, if all this could be yours?" he asked, placing his hands on the cane in front of him and using it to support himself as he leaned towards the small boy.

Charlie's eyes widened. "Wha--?" was all he could make out.

Mr. Wonka moved to Charlie's side, wrapping an arm around him and using the other to gesture to the moving pictures all around them. "All this I could give to you when you're old enough," he said. Charlie could do nothing but stand in shock. "If…you came here to stay with me…." Mr. Wonka's voice lowered to something just above a whisper, "I could give you anything you wanted, anything you could ever dream of ." Slowly Mr. Wonka had been leaning in ever so closer to the boy, as if they were sharing some very great secret that enemy spies could intercept at any moment if they'd been hiding and listening in this very room. "I can show you things you've never dreamed of before," he went on.

He was so close that Charlie could now feel his breath against his neck when he spoke. It was warm and it tickled his skin with every word, sending a shiver down his spine. It made him a slight bit uncomfortable, but only just, because he liked the presence of this strange man. It was comforting. The way he sprung about merrily all day, seemingly a kid himself, overcome with wonder at times, fascinated Charlie. Since they had entered this room, Wonka's playful side had toned down a bit and he seemed just a little more mysterious…just a little more _intimate_ with Charlie. Charlie couldn't figure out what to make of it. It was good because it made him feel closer to the odd man, made him feel welcomed, wanted…. But he was also still a little anxious. He felt as though this calmer version of Wonka could see right through him with those twinkling eyes of his.

"Would you like that, Charlie?" Mr. Wonka's hand swept through his hair affectionately. Charlie felt he should lean into it and pull away at the same time.

"I…I…." He found he suddenly couldn't get the words out. All the things Mr. Wonka was promising him right now were beyond imagination. The entire factory…. He could stay here for the rest of his life, where Mr. Wonka would make his most unimaginable dreams come true. "Are you serious?" was what he finally managed.

Wonka smiled as though that were all the answer he needed. "I am very serious," he replied, "but only if you stay with me and do everything I say," he added with a smile. And then he did something Charlie never expected him to do. He leaned in all those few inches closer that remained between he and the boy, and, ever so lightly, pressed his lips to Charlie's neck. The boy froze. Mr. Wonka let his mouth linger there for a moment, flicking his tongue out and tasting the skin before he pulled away. Charlie could feel his pulse racing as the man sat back to where he'd previously been with a warm, expectant look on his face. He didn't seem to be the slightest bit uncomfortable at all. "Well…?" he asked finally, in a warm tone, but one that said his offer might imply more than just the chocolate factory.

Now Charlie was quite stunned. Just a minute ago, he was stunned about the offer, but in somewhat of a different manner. He turned the situation over in his head for a few moments. Mr. Wonka was offering him everything his heart desired, a place for he and his family to live, an endless supply of delicious food, the entire factory, all his dreams. The only matter that threw Charlie off was that thing he did with his mouth just a second ago. It….was like a kiss, but not one that Charlie had ever been given before. He'd been kissed on the forehead and cheeks, and once on the hand, but that was in a play, where he was a king (Charlie, who was so poor, liked pretending to be a king very much), and his hand wasn't really what was being kissed, but the ring on it instead. Other than that he'd only been kissed by his parents and grandparents. It felt strange. Then again, Mr. Wonka was strange, wasn't he? And Charlie trusted him. So, in the end he decided to ignore it. He let himself grin from ear to ear with joy and accept. "I'd love it," he replied and jumped up in the air as he did so, and then wrapped his arms around the famous chocolateir in gratitude. "I don't know how I could ever thank you," he added and Mr. Wonka only smiled back in response.

He took Charlie back down to see his grandfather and inform him of the good news. Of course, they went to collect the rest of the family immediately and tell them of the good news as well, by way of the magical flying elevator which Wonka crashed through the roof of the factory and house, frightening everybody half to death.

Once they were back inside the factory, and everybody had calmed down about fearing for their lives, they were invited on a tour of it themselves with Charlie, Grandpa Joe, and a very bubbly Mr. Wonka leading the way. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket and all the grandparents were beside themselves with gratitude towards Mr. Wonka, thanking him over and over again, offering to help out with what little they had for anything at all the man should ever desire. Mr. Wonka in return said it wouldn't be necessary at all, only that he should be let to teach Charlie all the ways of becoming a chocolateir, which everybody thought the most grand of all his gifts to the family.

By the time they were through touring for the day Mr. Wonka thought things were going most splendidly indeed.

TBC.

(1) The tune is the one Elle Driver whistles in Kill Bill as she's on her way to assassinate The Bride. :3 Lovely movies Charlie watches, doesn't he?


	2. Chap 1 Razzle Dazzle

**Chap 1 / Razzle Dazzle **

Rating: R  
Author: Lucifer  
Notes: Here we meet a new 'character' I guess you could say.  
Additional Warning: Charlie is still as young as he was when he first entered the factory, he's going to be portrayed in sexual situations with Mr. Wonka. :P

That night the entire family was more tired than they could ever remember being though for once it wasn't from hunger. The excitement had thoroughly worn the Buckets out, right down to the three old grandparents who had to be pushed along in their equally old bed. Charlie thought it was pleasantly hilarious how Mr. Wonka had been trying to show them things all day that they could never (or at least refused) to do, such as cross a tightrope of licorice or ride on the backs of giant honey bee shaped flying vehicles in a meadow of gigantic flowers, and it frustrated him to no end. He had flitted about them atop his bee insisting that they'd never taste anything quite like the sweet honeyed nectar in each flower and the only way to do so was to climb aboard another of these bees and fly up there. Charlie could see the temptation in their expressions and imagined their mouths drooling more than a few times, but still they'd refused any physical activity. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket and their son were a different case however, and for that Mr. Wonka seemed grateful.

His enthusiasm for everything was overwhelming, so much so in fact, that by the end of the day Charlie had forgotten that any other place but the factory had ever existed at all.

All too soon he felt exhausted, something Mr. Wonka picked up on rather quickly, and announced to the lot that it was time to visit the stars and Sandman. "To bed, to bed!" he exclaimed, shooing them into the elevator once more, just as zealously as ever. The man must never get tired, Charlie thought. He'd learned a great deal about the factory that day, though mostly only getting a layout of the place so far, and he thought about this as he stood between Grandpa Joe and Mr. Wonka, grasping both of their hands for support in the constantly twisting and turning elevator. After a little while of walking around without the other children and strange adults he didn't know, Charlie grew more at ease and was soon asking questions left and right, all of which Mr. Wonka answered delightedly. Even Grandpa Joe hadn't been as talkative as Charlie, and when he thought about it, Wonka had seemed more keen on answering his questions than paying attention to Grandpa Joe. He supposed that made sense though, as he was doing all this for Charlie after all.

Once the elevator opened again they were presented with a great round forum, littered with couches, chairs, bookshelves, and a great fireplace already lit, crackling and warming the large space. Wonka led the group out, into and through the giant living room. They found several doors on each side, or about as far apart to seem on another 'side' as the room was in fact circular, leading to equally grand bedrooms.

"You may have approximately, close to, and almost (whichever suits your fancy) any room in the factory," he told Mr. And Mrs. Bucket with warm generosity, "but these are some of the finest."

He told no falsehood. The rooms were beautiful, containing ornate furniture of every kind. Rugs and silk were made of the most lovely material and design Mrs. Bucket had ever seen. She was smitten at once. Everyone was. The old grandparents who still refused to move, much to Mr. Wonka's dismay, decided after a bit of a fuss that they would stay in the south side room, and Mr. And Mrs. Bucket would take the north room.

Charlie's parents flopped down onto their big, luxurious bed at once, completely spent and not intending to move until morning. He was just about to follow them until a hand carefully placed on his shoulder halted his progress. He looked up at Mr. Wonka in question.

"I have just one more something or other to show you tonight, my dear Charlie," he whispered with a wave of his hand and toss of his head towards the door. Charlie watched him flow with a kind of dazed awe. Just being in this room next to the huge bed of voluminous pillows and blankets made him drowsy. He glanced to his parents who most peculiarly bid their son and his accompanying chocolatier goodnight and began to drift off with contented smiles on their faces.

"Okay," he replied, looking back to Wonka. It was strange indeed, though…only just so because Charlie simply assumed they were as sleepy as he was. He couldn't ever remember being this tired. His eyelids felt like lead weights and his legs like Jell-O. The room now seemed to contain a soft red foggy haze, or maybe he was only seeing through his lowering eyelashes. He was too tired to tell. Wonka was as hazy as the rest of it until he stepped closer and with a welcoming gesture, let Charlie lean against his waist lest he sink down to the floor first.

"Let's let them have some shut-eye, shall we?" Wonka said to the boy who was now barely conscious. He could feel himself slipping into slumber and half wondered if Wonka himself was a dream. If he was, he was surely a magnificent one, for he wrapped his arms around the boy and lifted him up, carrying him slowly out of the room. Charlie made a small noise, similar to "mmhhnnph….", partially muffled by Wonka's coat collar, but which was intended to mean "where are we going?".

"My dear boy, you'll sleep your life away if you stay in there," was his only answer.

Charlie was confused , but once they were out of the room and a ways down another hallway, he felt some of the sleepiness leaving him. He began to wonder if it was something in those bedrooms that was making him so tired. He didn't want to say anything, for fear of possibly insulting his newfound benefactor, but the man must have noticed his confusion anyway.

"Not to worry over your dear parents, Charlie," he said. "they'll be just fine in the morning. Best night's sleep they've had in fact." Charlie smiled and nodded to thank Wonka for putting his mind at ease. They stopped a ways down an adjacent hall in front of another large, ornate looking door. Charlie was set back on his feet while Mr. Wonka shuffled around in his (many) coat pockets for something. Charlie meanwhile looked down the hall. He could imagine himself getting lost in this place. All the same he longed to explore every corner of it, up and down the endless halls, through giant rooms filled with candy jungles, anything and everywhere he wanted to go. But not right now. He still felt too tired to go exploring, and the sound of a great jingle-jangling brought his attention back to Mr. Wonka. In his hand he held a giant metal ring with thousands of tiny keys attached. Charlie looked on with uncertainty as Wonka began to pick through them, looking for that special one which Charlie imagined would open the door. After about five minutes he was just going to ask if there was any way he could help, but Wonka beat him to it, plucking one out with an accompanying "Aha!". Charlie was relieved, he thought they might be standing there for a couple of hours after looking at the key-ring, but then baffled as Mr. Wonka pulled out his pocket watch and used the key to wind it. He then replaced both watch and ring of keys and turned the door's handle, entering with nary a problem.

"Important to stay on schedule," he told Charlie. Once inside, Charlie found they were back in the room from earlier, the "brain" of the factory, Wonka's study. This left Charlie more certain than ever that he would never be able to get his bearings in this place. He hadn't realized they were anywhere near this room. Wonka twirled around, spinning his coat off his shoulders and tossing it atop a coat-rack in one fluid movement. His hat went the same way as the coat a second later, leaving Wonka free to flop himself into an armchair, one that spun around as he did so. "Make yourself comfortable," he invited Charlie, beckoning him with open arms after setting his swirly cane down to rest against the nearby desk. Charlie eagerly took the invitation and went to Wonka's side, leaning against the arm of his chair when he turned to the desk, upon which sat a large, flat monitor screen. "As you may or may not know, this factory, and myself along with everything inside of it included, have not had contact with the outside world for oh, about fifteen years now," he told Charlie, who nodded, already knowing this from the stories he'd heard abut the legendary chocolate master and his factory, encouraging him to continue. Wonka's eyes brightened. "That is, except for this." His attention fell back to the screen, Charlie's following. The monitor burst to life from a dead, black void. Colors swirled and bounced around it, making rainbow curly-Qs then twisting off in another direction like some crazy psychedelic TV show.

"Hello Mr. Wonka!" the computer said brightly in a melodic voice that Charlie couldn't tell belonged to a boy or girl. Wonka laughed in delight and the rainbow of colors fled the screen to reveal something that looked more like a normal computer.

"Hello, hello, and good day to you to!" he replied cheerily. Charlie looked to Mr. Wonka then the screen and then back again, trying to figure out if he was actually having a conversation with it. "Charlie, I'd like you to meet MJ," he said. "MJ, Charlie. Charlie, MJ," he added, gesturing with his hands between the boy and computer. The screen went into another swirly mess for a moment until the image of a man with just as swirly black hair sprung forth. He was all smiles when he saw (or seemed to see) the pair on the other side of the screen.

"Hi Charlie! Such a pleasure to meet you." His eyes twinkled like Wonka's, Charlie thought. He had pretty eyes. Also like Wonka.

"Hi," Charlie replied, feeling just a little childish at the thought.

"MJ runs throughout the entire factory," Mr. Wonka went on while the image of MJ zoomed out so that he could be seen sprinting about the screen in a miniature version of the factory, making Charlie laugh at the literal reenactment of Wonka's words. "He keeps the power running and everything working properly. In fact, he's not very unlike the Enterprise's Computer." At mention of this MJ donned a Star Trek uniform and saluted them. Charlie laughed again and wondered in the back of his mind if Wonka thought Star Trek was real, or in that case, if Star Trek actually _was_real. "He can find you anywhere inside the factory, and if you need anything, all you have to do is ask." MJ was now back in his previous outfit that seemed to be made mostly of sequins, and though Charlie had assumed it to be a costume before, he now thought it must be his usual attire. "He can access the Internet, what a marvelous invention by the way, call anyone anywhere, tell you anything that is going on all the way on the other side of the factory, etcetera, etcetera; you name it, he can do it." MJ folded his arms around himself an beamed proudly.

"That's amazing," Charlie said feeling only slightly odd about talking to a computer. "You can really do all that?"

"Of course. Anything you need," MJ replied.

"Wow, I've never seen a computer like this before."

Wonka laughed. "Why of course you haven't. No one has! MJ is one of a kind, and the only kind fit to run my factory." MJ took a graceful bow at the compliment.

"Now now, is there anything I can do for you, Charlie?" MJ asked.

Charlie didn't have to think long on the matter. "Is there a map of the factory?" Wonka chuckled softly at his side.

"A map? Of _this_ factory?" MJ put on a digitally puzzled face.

"My, a map like that would be impossible to read!" Wonka answered.

"Indeed," MJ added, "However, I can guide you anywhere you want to go until you learn it by heart. You wouldn't need a map at all!"

"That'll do just as well," Charlie replied gratefully, wondering just how confusing the factory must be if it couldn't be read from a map and how he would ever learn to remember something like that.

"Well then," Mr. Wonka interjected, "I think it's time for me to catch some Zs." He yawned and stretched his arms far out above his head to illustrate his point. Charlie had forgotten how tired he was up until this point, and since yawns are contagious, he found himself mimicking Wonka.  
"Looks like Charlie's just as tired," Wonka mused, and Charlie couldn't tell whether he was talking to himself or MJ, or even Charlie because he was looking at him, but it didn't matter. It got the point across. Wonka stood, stretching some more and bid MJ goodnight. Charlie did as well even though he felt a tiny bit silly doing so.

"Where shall I--" Charlie wondered if he was going to go back to his parents' room again. He remembered the walk taking a while.

"This way, Charlie," Wonka interrupted. He led the boy to a door on the far side of the room, one which _was_ locked. It was a bedroom, and Charlie could immediately tell it belonged to Mr. Wonka. The first thing he noticed was that it was…rather messy actually. Clothes and other brightly colored things were strewn about every here and there. It wasn't ridiculously messy, but on the contrary Charlie found the messiness quite welcoming, even comfortable. Everywhere else in the factory was immaculate. While he was wondering over this, Mr. Wonka sat down on the foot of the bed in front of them. Like the previous two bedrooms Charlie had seen, this bed was grand, four posters, with dark violet curtains draped down the sides. He had more giant feather blankets and pillows than any one person could ever need. Charlie imagined what Wonka must look like in the morning, buried in a storm of blankets and pillows. He probably had to crawl his way out every day, and that image almost made Charlie giggle. His mind however, was beset with a more serious composure as his eyes fell upon the real Mr. Wonka, sitting before him, rather than his imaginary morning-Wonka. The real Wonka wore a much less lighthearted expression, not angry, nor upset as far as Charlie could see, but one that seemed more _intent_. For a moment he wondered if something was wrong, or if he really wasn't supposed to be in here. But Mr. Wonka had called for him to follow. He could sense his hands fidget uncertainly with the hem of his shirt though he wasn't aware of ever telling them to.

"Come here Charlie." Wonka's voice was soft, and he offered a hand out to the boy to show he was welcome. Some of Charlie's apprehension went away at this offer and he came to Mr. Wonka, climbing up on the large bed and sitting down beside him. "Would you like to stay here for the night?" he asked. One of his arms found its way around Charlie in a friendly manner and massaged his shoulder, working out some of the tiredness there. Charlie could feel himself relaxing already. He let himself sink into Wonka's lap when he shifted back and allowed Charlie more room. Both of his hands were skillfully luring the knots out of Charlie's muscles and it felt wonderful.

"Yes, I'd like that," he answered. He'd have liked to stay that way for a long time.

Wonka made a sound of agreement behind him, surprising Charlie at just how close he was. He leaned them both back until thy were lying side by side.

It wasn't until then that it really occurred to Charlie (and he still didn't know all that it entailed) that he was actually going to sleep here, in Willy Wonka's bed…..with Willy Wonka in it.

TBC.

Note: Of course MJ is not based of anyone, he's simply Wonka's computer, a piece of machinery, and you're crazy for thinking otherwise!


	3. Chap 2 Breakfast to Go

**Chapter 2 / Breakfast, To Go**

Rating: R  
Author: Lucifer  
Notes: This chapter can be summarized in just about one image. Morning-Wonka.  
Additional Warning: Charlie is still as young as he was when he first entered the factory, he's going to be portrayed in sexual situations with Mr. Wonka.

Charliefelt his pulse quicken to the point he imagined he could hear it as he watched Mr. Wonka. The man's hair had fallen about his face in a way that made it seem even more…"swooshy", if not a little more like a normal person's. Probably due to the loss of his hat. Charlie found it peculiar of himself to think that Wonka's hair should be unlike a normal person's. After all, he was very real flesh and blood lying right here next to him, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking it anyway. Mr. Wonka kicked off his shoes, Charlie following his example, and pulled a good deal of the massive amounts of bed sheets up to engulf them. Having the blankets wrap around him calmed Charlie slightly, but soon Wonka's arms joined them. The drumming pulse was back in his ears and inside his head all at once. He swallowed, finding his throat as dry and empty as his mind, unable to comprehend being in such close proximity to the great Willy Wonka. The man was a legend, something from imagination, not only of his but of every child around the world. Unreal, yet here he was.

Charlie could have drowned himself in childlike fantasies of the candyman if not for two violet colored eyes staring at him that were so real they miraculously grounded his thoughts. And suddenly, he felt safe. The arms around him were strong and warm and wanting and there was no reason to be shy. Wonka wanted him here, he reminded himself, and that was all the reason in the world to push his uneasiness aside. He could be confident if this man wanted him to. He grew so very fond of the man just by staring back and forth with him like this. He could see a touch of a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. It was something pleased and content, and something that made Charlie feel like the most special person in the world to be the source of it. The man's skin was very pale and a slightly different shade from Charlie's which had a more creamy golden color. For some reason Charlie became fascinated with his hair. The deceivingly longish way it was cut gave it a fine swoop that caught the boy's eyes and pulled them along down it's curve until they landed at his jaw line, another feature which threatened to take one's eyes for a ride down its straight base. He could follow contour after contour, relaxed and exploring, making a map in his head from the curve of eyebrows and nose to the dip just above his upper lip.

It would have felt like an abstract version of connect-the-dots if Charlie had stopped to think about it, but he was too mesmerized for that particular thought to do anything more than flicker through his mind. He'd never really explored another person so thoroughly with his eyes like this before. Perhaps with his mother when he was much younger, but still, not so consciously and she was his mother and for some reason he felt that wouldn't count here.

"You're going to love it here, Charlie," Wonka whispered, "We're going to be better than best friends." Then came that smile, knowing and secret, filled with wonderment, the one that made Charlie smile back no matter what was going on around them, he couldn't help it. It was impossible to resist when Wonka smiled like that, and after only a day of knowing him, he knew it would never wear off. Right now, though he was still nervous, there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. He didn't have to do anything, be anything, and least of all worry about anything when he was wrapped up in Wonka's arms. It felt wonderful. Yes, he was going to love it here, he and Wonka would be better than best friends. He wouldn't have it any other way.

And when Wonka kissed him, the nervousness wasn't quite so bad.

That morning Mrs. Bucket awoke feeling like she'd never ever felt before. She'd slept late, much later than she could ever remember doing, and even before she opened her eyes, she felt like she'd rested for a thousand years. Not a bone in her body ached of tiredness or overuse. She felt twenty years younger, no, even more than that. She felt like she'd never worked a day in her life. She felt not very unlike the way her son looked running around outside her now open doorway between the other rooms, pulling an old and reluctant Grandpa Joe out another door and begging his father's help, then running back to his mother's room and leaping upon the bed just as she realized he must have been what woke her up in the first place. The boy had a great big smile plastered to his face that left her bewildered but she found quite contagious nonetheless.

"Mom c'mon, get up," he pleaded, pulling at her arm in the same manner she'd seen him dragging Grandpa Joe out his door a second ago. "You have to come see this; Wonka's making pancakes!"

Wonka's making pancakes. Willy Wonka is making pancakes. It took a few times dragging it through her newly awakened mind for her to grasp what her son was talking about. Most of the other adults looked as confused as she felt, but Charlie gave her arm an extra hard tug which nearly made her topple out of the bed.

"Alright! Alright!" she exclaimed, pulling herself to her feet. The boy ceased attempting to bring her to the ground yet still wouldn't let go of her arms, tugging her along to the door.

"Charlie, I'm not even dressed yet!" she protested. It was true, she still was only in her nightgown and was beginning to lean in the direction where she set her day clothes the night before, but Charlie would have none of it, and continued pulling her out the door.  
"No one's going to mind," he reassured her, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. Reluctantly she joined her husband and Grandpa Joe, each as befuddled as she was.

"Well Charlie, now that you've dragged us all out here, what have you got in store for us?" Grandpa Joe asked.

"Oh it's nothing I've got," Charlie replied excitedly, already starting off towards the hall but with this eyes still firmly locked on the group, making sure they were following him. "It's Wonka. He's making pancakes!"

There was a degree of excitement in his voice which made Mrs. Bucket glance to her husband nervously. Exactly why is Willy Wonka making pancakes such an extraordinary event? Compared to all his other strange candy-making contraptions, the process of making pancakes should seem rather simple, shouldn't it? He gave her a helpless look in return. So the group followed Charlie, throwing curious glances at each other every now and then, down the twisting and turning hallways, absently wondering if they'd ever find their way back. Fortunately there were a good many landmarks in the factory to go by, a great water fountain in an open area (one that used kool-aid rather than water), a greenroom filled with all sorts of plants and trees with some of the vinery winding down the hallway after passersby, and giant open areas every once in a while filled with granite and stone statues. The statues could be happened upon almost anywhere in the halls. Many were of children running and playing, or men who seemed to be of some significance which neither Charlie nor his family knew of. By the time they reached the kitchens his mother was wondering how he'd known the way at all, especially all by himself. Though, she did suppose it was possible he could have gotten directions form Mr. Wonka that morning. In fact, just as Charlie threw back the big swinging doors to the kitchens, giving them a grin and ducking quickly inside, she realized she had no idea when her son had woken up this morning, nor how late he'd stayed up last night. Nor where he'd slept for that matter.

The thought couldn't do much more than give her slight pause however. Not a moment later a giant clump of dough was flying at her head.

She gave a choked shriek and cringed, her hands rushing to shield her face, and the gob of dough missing her by not more than a few inches.

"Oh my! Dear, madam I'm so sorry!" she heard a familiar voice exclaim over quite a lot of racket that she now recognized as pots and pans and silverware clanging about. She peered out from between her folded arms in time to see Willy Wonka, who must have been standing at the large whirring contraption that had just flung cake mix at her, rushing to see if she was alright. He knelt down beside her and with the help of her husband, brought her to her feet. She hadn't realized she'd been crouching on the floor until then.

"It tends to do that every once in a while. I'm still working some of the bugs out...," he explained in apology. He gave her arm a light squeeze and she took a deep breath.

"That gave me quite a scare," she said while waving her hand in front of her face and attempting to laugh off some of the sudden adrenaline rush.

"You okay, Mom?" Charlie asked, now at Wonka's side, trying to help console his mother.

"Fine, fine," she replied with a smile. The anxiety was wearing off considerably. "Wouldn't have done much more than mess up my hair anyway," she laughed.

Satisfied that she was alright, Charlie scampered over to the machine. As far as his parents could see, it wasn't much more than a mess of brightly colored wires and odds and ends, all spinning about and sometimes sloshing syrup out onto the floor.

"Isn't this thing the coolest?" he asked. "Wonka showed me how to make it work earlier," he went on, seeing their puzzled looks. "It can make any kind of breakfast food you want."

"Seems you can make lots more than candy here, Wonka," said Grampa Joe, coming over to where Charlie stood to have a closer look at the machine.

Wonka chuckled. "Oh yes, I can make anything, or well, almost anything I want here," he said proudly.

When one inspected things closely, it seemed that the contraption was making pancakes. In fact, it seemed to be making several different kinds of pancakes at once. Blueberries were added to some, strawberries to others, oranges, and other various fruits as well. Once the batter had been baked well enough, the cakes were actually tossed out of the machine (Wonka ducked under them to show Grampa Joe how a certain nozzle worked) and onto large silver plates which were rotated to fit them all. The flying pancakes seemed to be what fascinated Charlie the most. He attempted several times to jump up and catch one in the air before it landed in its plate.

After a while more of inspecting the pancake-maker, Wonka lead the Buckets to the dining hall, a room similar to the ones seen in great mansions they'd seen in movies, usually with a long table stretching down its middle and a butler waiting at its end and a shining chandelier hanging overhead. Wonka's however, had replaced the butler with several Oompa Loompas who followed behind to serve breakfast, and though the large table in its center was quite long, it was in the shape of a spiral.

Once they were all seated for breakfast, Mrs. Bucket felt that it was time to make polite conversation. The events of the day before were still only beginning to sink in on her. Now as she took the strawberry pancakes passed her way and listened to Mr. Wonka, Grampa Joe, and her son chatter, she began to think of her family's plans for the future in earnest. Mr. Bucket, all too familiar with his wife's moods, seemed to catch on to her ponderings after a few minutes. With his help and curiosity of what was going on inside her head, she soon managed to make her way into the conversation which had originally been concerning all the types of non-candy foods the chocolate factory could produce, and how Mr. Wonka could ever remember the recipes for them all, at which point Mr. Wonka informed them all of the factory's library.

"A library of recipes?" Mrs. Bucket piped in.

"Oh yes, among many other things. I like to keep well read," Mr. Wonka replied. "Much of it's stored electronically, but some of it is so old that well, the Oompa Loompas haven't yet organized it into the computer system..." Charlie imagined Ooompa Loompas spending hours reading stacks and stack of books aloud to MJ who somehow remembered and stored them behind his twinkling eyes and fluffy mass of black hair. Wonka trailed off, suddenly interested in the hem of his sleeve and glancing at Charlie under the brim of his hat before he got back on track again. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket waited patiently. "I have books on everything--"

"Everything?" Charlie interrupted curiously.

"Everything," Wonka repeated with a quick smile.

"Everything?" Mrs. Bucket chimed in, asking by her tone alone to be told what the two were talking about.

Wonka took a dramatically deep breath and belted out, "Frogs, cats, whangdoodles, toads, wizards, lizards, rock stars, Irishmen, dogs, birds, several uncles, Peter Pan (one of my personal favorites), monkeys, giraffes, grapes, fudge, actors, astronomy, C. Montgomery Burns, physics, rocket ships, sewing machines, economics, trips to the moon (or lack there of, I've been there! psh!), Mexican drug lords, national talk-like-a-pirate day, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Bert and Ernie, clocks, bombs, radios, and those unfathomably annoying flying thing-a-majiggers with the spinning tops that chase after you while you're on the run from the law--"

"Helicopters?" Charlie asked.

"Exactly!" He replied, then catching the stares from the elder Buckets, decided that he'd provided enough of a description. Instead, he cleared his throat. "Well, I did say everything, did I not?"

Grampa Joe, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket simply nodded their heads, momentarily at a loss of words after the small rant.

"I'd very much like to show you the library later today, Charlie," Mr. Wonka began.

This time it was Mrs. Bucket's turn to clear her throat. "You must not stay up too late tonight, Charlie," she said carefully, raising her eyebrows as she spoke, a trait she might have actually picked up from Wonka, "there is school tomorrow."

TBC.


End file.
